


Neibolt

by BlasphemyBee



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Abuse, But maybe not, Character Death, Graphic corpse descriptions, Incest, M/M, Manipulation, Necrophilia, Pedophilia, Pining, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rats and bugs mentioned like once if youre sensitive to that, Shapeshifting, Unrequited Crush, Vomiting, but not? its ALMOST vomiting, coulrophobia, we'll never know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:08:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23594341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlasphemyBee/pseuds/BlasphemyBee
Summary: "Stop? You want to stop?” The question is asked like the preteen hadn’t just been begging for that exact thing.
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Eddie Kaspbrak, Eddie Kaspbrak/Frank Kaspbrak, Eddie Kaspbrak/Pennywise, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Henry Bowers/Eddie Kaspbrak
Comments: 6
Kudos: 75





	Neibolt

**Author's Note:**

> Always gotta bully eddie always ALWAYS. sorry this story kinda starts right in the middle of the conflict, i seriously couldnt write an opening i was satisfied with and i dont write henry well enough to write about "him" banging eddie lmao

Eddie hates it. Hates the fucking way he clings closer, breathing in Richie’s scent (always cigarette smoke and mango shampoo,) and wrings his arms around the boy’s neck. The thrusts have become shallow and slow, every loving sink back in making Eddie’s thighs twitch on either side of his trashmouth friend and he fucking sobs. A whiny broken noise that opens a gateway to more tears streaming down his already wet red cheeks. It hurts so much more than being turned inside out by Henry Bowers’ abrasive pounding. Because Richie would never want this. He’d never want to be with Eddie this intimately. Wouldn’t want to be a little homo like his closeted friend. Eddie feels the loudmouth’s normally flapping lips press below his ear and remain in place as Richie picks up the pace a bit. For the first time, Eddie moans. He lets go, grasping onto the only thread of this being possible, as long as he’s able. Pretends he’s not on the dusty old floor of the Neilbolt house infested with rats and spiders and stinging his eyes with the stench of sewer water. He imagines being in Richie’s bed, window cracked open to fight the suffocating heat and allowing midnight’s cool breeze to wash over their bare bodies. He imagined his first time to be under Richie, back sinking into the old mattress he’d spent summers reading comic books on, toe-to-toe with the impressionist. The mattress that would squeak every time his best friend would push deep into him. He wanted to explore Richie with his hands and lips, press kisses into his clammy skin and giggle breathily as the boy whispers a bad joke into his ear, or even a soft

“I love you!” Eddie gasps, holding harder onto the mirage dragging through him and making the fire in his belly blaze violently, numbing his toes. The feeling grows suffocating and he sees stars as he tips into completion, pressing a teary-eyed kiss into Richie’s hair until he goes limp, a wetness sticking to his stomach and thighs.

For a moment, he’s foolish enough to think the clown is done. He’s ready to go home and wipe himself clean. To sob into his pillow until his voice runs raw and is barely able to measure up to what he can call a whisper. He couldn’t tell the other Losers about this. Not in a million years; not only would he feel dirty and judged by the only people that mattered, but they’d know. Telling them meant they would find out this is what Pennywise was using against him. His fucking sexuality. 

He feels a shift in size, the stretch becoming unbearable and deep voice he wasn’t alive long enough to recognize drawls back.  
“I love you too, Eddie-bear. Show daddy how much you’ve grown.”  
Eddie’s jaw slackens as he jolts back, staring at his dead father and letting out a broken shriek at the sight of his rotting face.

A painful thrust drags through him when he isn’t ready, scraping his raw insides and pushing in too deep. Eddie’s still shaking and keening from the overstimulation, and he’s disgusted at how his little prick perks up again when his prostate is met by the swollen head of his father’s dick. He screams loud, fucking bloody murder as he’s fucked through a second orgasm he didn’t even feel approaching. This is different from fake Henry’s abrasive jerks (the first one, Henry had been the first to enter him, to take his virginity, to break him) or Richie’s sweet little movements. Perfect, lovely Richie. Nearly prepubescent, and therefore too small to burn through his friend the way Eddie’s dad is stretching him out around his (adult! Fucking adult, fucking a grown man, his father’s) cock.

“Please,” Eddie can only cry out, legs shaking and closing harder around Frank Kaspbrak’s hips. He digs his fingers hard into his father’s arms, trying to find leverage or force him away, but instead the digits break through his thin spongy skin. Eddie hears his now dirty fingernails clack directly against a brittle slimy bone just beneath. It makes him gag and draw his hand back, choking on a cross between a cough and another frightened sob. He becomes suddenly aware of the smell that fills the air after.  
Assuming its thanks to the now open wound on the corpse’s arm, he closes his hand around it only to draw in a sharp breath and pull back his filthy hand. Dark brown and grey sludge strings between his fingers and the arm. The arm that was now much thinner and weaker and dirtier than his dad’s had been. Eddie feels bile rise in his tight throat. He tries to swallow it down, looking up but gasps before choking and coughing on his own vomit at the sight that greets him.

The leper. That fucking leper, his caved in nose right in front of Eddie’s face, and the creature’s bulging bloodshot eyes look right into his own. He expelled a choked up breath as a glob of drool plummets down right onto the corner of his bottom lip. It feels slimy and warm, though quickly cooling against his already sweaty skin and Eddie gags louder when the sour dirty substance leaks into his mouth. More spittle flies into his face as the monster thrusts, filling Eddie up uncomfortably and filling the musky air with a tinge of something rotten and unbearable. It’s all too suffocating and Eddie idly reaches for his inhaler, feeling instead his bare stomach as it sucks in and contracts in tune with his twitching body. His fanny pack was thrown a few feet away, and there was no way he could escape from this fucking shapeshifter long enough to get it. He longed for the bitter gust of air to fill his lungs and provide some sense of familiarity. Something he was used to in the midst of this mortifying and new experience.

He briefly remembers the vomit that’d built up, stomach acid ripping through the space and making his nostrils and throat burn as he coughs again and provides another shaky plead for this to be over.

‘Not having fun?’ He faintly hears the clown’s shrill voice, taunting him, patronizing him and speaking in a tone that’s imitating any sense of actual concern. His eyes squeeze shut tight and he shakes his head so hard an ache grips ahold of it and makes him dizzy. The form above him changes, the smell draws back and he’s so relieved to at least be rid of the leper.

But again, who knows just what the fuck shape Pennywise has taken now. It could be anything, anyone, and that thought has him crying softly into the freezing cold and stifling air. The once calm pumps into him grow hard again, the obscene sound of hips slapping against his own falling in tune with Eddie’s shaky cries, and for a moment he thinks it’s Henry again. It feels like someone around his age, and the movements are hungry, selfish, only taking. Leaving no room for Eddie to collect himself and actually enjoy it.

Part of him hopes it’s Richie again. Even being fucked senseless into the dusty ground, and being overstimulated farther than he’s able to handle it, none of it would matter if only it was Richie. But he knows he’s not that lucky. 

He inhales, one short second of loud breathing without the help of his aspirator before he can let his tired red-rimmed eyes flutter open.

“Not him, please,” Eddie immediately croaks, unable to scream anymore. The preteen’s voice is raspy and barely louder than a library-level whisper. His arms make an attempt to raise and shield himself or push away his abuser in a valiant (though failed) effort.

“Eh-Eh-Eddie,” Bill murmurs, voice breaking in a pleased stutter as he takes. His movements are quick and rough, hips snapping forward and burying himself deep inside of Eddie. The victim’s hands don’t quit their attempts at pushing away his friend, starting with his shoulders then trying to travel down and at least slow down his greedy thrusts.

“Suh-s-sorry, Eddie,” Bill (or, not Bill, Eddie has to remind himself) gasps, shaking his head and ramming in harder at the smaller boy’s struggle. “Don’t m-m-make this harder, fuck, Eddie, you’re s-so t-t-tight.”

It’s those words from his best friend, practically his brother that has Eddie finding the strength to scream again. His legs thrash around wildly, foot drawing back and pressing against Bill’s chest to try and kick him away.  
“Get the fuck off of me!” Eddie wails, kicking again and again and again, “Get off, get the fuck off, you’re not him!!”

The rough slap to his cheek is enough of a shock to make his body lock up, hips involuntarily grinding down into a particularly nice brush against his sweet spot. Bill’s hand slides up and curls around his throat, squeezing so hard black dances around the edges of Eddie’s vision. He thinks for a moment he could pass out, and almost wishes for that instead. It’d be much better than this. Any of this. In fact, he wishes he’d passed out at the start, only to wake up in his own bed, the other Losers crowded around him and asking questions, feeling his head, making sure he’s okay.

Instead, he has one Loser, who is providing no such comfort.

“So w-wuh-warm,” Bill sighs, leaning forward and practically draping his body over Eddie’s much smaller frame. He lets out grunts each time his dick plunges into the aforementioned heat, lining up each thrust to directly strike the hypochondriac’s sore prostate.  
“Eddie, Eddie, say m-m-my name,” the older boy coos, almost unable to get the words out through the way his stutter puffs out his bottom lip, looking locked in place and keeping the sound from leaving them momentarily. Eddie shakes his head indignantly at the command, so Bill squeezes harder on his neck, draws a whine from the brunette as he grinds in hard, then repeats. “Say it.”  
“Bill!” Eddie sobs finally, though it’s more of a plea than it is a moan. That’s the final straw. Eddie lets go, cumming for a third time and babbling all the while.  
“Bill, p-puh-lease, please, I don’t want thisss, Bill-”  
His hands shake as they clench hard, pressing into the ground, angry red crescents dug into his palms. He tries to sit up as much as he’s able, head bobbing sluggishly as he swallows down and his tongue feels heavy in his dry mouth the more he tries to find his words.  
“Bill, Bill, it’s not y-you,” Eddie hiccups, raising one hand to angrily scrub his eyes with the back of one hand. It does very little to stop the burning while more tears bubble up and stream down his cheek. “Stop, please, Bill..”

“Stop, Billll,” a voice mocks him. It’s high pitched, raspy, dragged out from the back of his abuser’s throat. His blood runs cold at the tone and it takes a moment before his doe eyes trail forward.  
There, in the flesh, is Pennywise. Fully clothed, seemingly, but Eddie can’t see his lower half and still feels the clown burrowed deep inside of him. He can only let out a horrified squeak but finds himself much too weak to try and fight like he had with Bill. His lungs feel like they’re on fire. The inhaler is still too far away, and the burn spreading across his chest travels to his already sore throat and provides little room for him to gasp for air. It’s a panic attack, he can feel it, working its way to his core and making his entire body go still.

“Stooop, make it stooop,” Pennywise fake sobs again. His face is contorted in a pained look that mirrored Eddie’s from merely moments ago, but who is now terror stricken in his normally bunched up and angry expression.  
Even as a large white hand raises to brush the knuckles to Eddie’s cheek, and as his scream echoes around his head to break away, he can’t break his glazed over eyes from the makeup clad circus freak watching him like a hawk. His breathing practically stops altogether. 

“Stop? You want to stop?” The question is asked like the preteen hadn’t just been begging for that exact thing. Finding it in himself to nod sharply, Eddie scrambles to jolt back and lets out a more than relieved whimper when there’s a loss of contact. He feels empty, and cold, and he’s never felt more fucking happy in his entire life when he looks to see Pennywise gone.

Ignoring the burn among his insides, he climbs to his knees and hurries over to where his clothing had been discarded. There’s no better feeling than pulling his filthy, dirty, and blood stained shirt over his heaving chest. After this, he can go home. His mother will ask what happened, no doubt, but he’s in no condition to deal with her questioning. Hiding out at Richie and Bill’s places are a definite no, so he briefly thinks of making the painful walk all the way to the Hanlon farm. At the very least, it was on the outskirts of town far away from the other Losers’ homes (as well as his own), and he knows Mike would keep quiet if asked.  
Eddie feels a shaky smile rise to his lips. Even with the nagging anxiety climbing up his back, and the constant fear Pennywise will return if he’s not quick enough, he feels another bout of tears rise up but they’re of joy. He got closer to Pennywise than anyone ever had, much closer he’d ever wanted to come to the clown, and barely came out of it alive. Pride welled in his chest even despite being accompanied by the lingering fear and absolute disgust with himself.  
The sun’s beautiful rays break in through the cracks of boarded up wood against the paneless windows, and heat fills the room again. It thaws out his freezing limbs and he can no longer see fog puff from his lips with each terrified gasp. He’s free. He’s alive, and soon, he and his friends will kill this motherfucker.

The brunette clasps his fannypack around his waist just as he finishes dressing, and presses one hand against the wall to stand him up on his quivering legs. The door is only a few feet away. He can make it. A few long stinging pushes forward, and he’ll be out.

He barely makes it 3 steps before long sharp fingers scrape down his shoulders, getting in a good grip before dragging him back. All that’s heard from the outside of the old house is a fearful scream before all goes silent.

The Losers never really do find out just what happened to Eddie.


End file.
